Goodbye Heart
by CriminalMentalist
Summary: Marco can't understand where he went wrong. Their relationship is crumbling, and fast, something he's been painfully aware of for months now. ((Summary to be edited, Jean/Marco est relationship, onesided Jean/Mikasa, Modern day AU))


**I wanted to practice writing and went for Jean/Marco. Modern Day AU, sober tone, rated M because of the sex. **

**Chapter 1: The mistake **

The very tips of Marco's fingers traversed the expanse of Jean's broad upper back. They glided over the seemingly thin cloth of his piercing white shirt in a practiced pattern of back and forth ministrations, tickling the area of flesh beneath it, a soft grunt passing through the lying teen's throat and tightly clenched jaw in response.

Marco hummed. The tuneless sound was almost always reassuring. The gentle movements of his hand continued, though the man lying with his face smothered into his partner's mattress was no longer responding.

A harsh breeze rattled the blinds as it passed, ruining the peaceful silence; Marco tensed as he realized the sudden rattling had alerted Jean, as though snapping him out of a certain daze, of where he was and why. He swiftly returned his hand to his own side, before Jean's senses came back to him; he would have given anything for him to have stayed. He hardly ever did anymore. But perhaps tonight's guilt would change things.

'That was…'

'Interesting?'

Jean ignored him, flipping onto his back to expose a thin path of swirled hairs trailing just under his belly button and down to his exposed pelvis, his shirt buttons missing in some places from frenzied hands snatching, wildly at the restricting fabrics just under an hour earlier. His belt had been tossed toward- or even directly out of, neither had bothered or even cared enough to make sure- the open window, the location of his pants as equally unknown.

Marco listened unabashed to the gentle pants emanating from his lover, watched as his chest rose and fell, resisting an urge to bring his lips to his for what would have been the first time that night. Jean must have surely noticed, must have sensed telepathically what Marco was thinking, he was sure of it. And if not, one good look at the teens face, still somewhat moist with perspiration and desire as tangible as daylight would have clued him in. Still, Jean had never been much of a kisser, never_ would_ be, if they were being perfectly honest…

'I'm sorry about…what I said…' Jean's voice was stern and concentrative as his words cut through the silence and Marco's thoughts. He felt his throat constrict and he gulped, dryly, trying to think of a way to articulate his feelings into words that both he and his partner could understand, and _believe_.

It wouldn't be easy. He was afraid to even begin. The brunette hesitated, but with one look into the freckled boy's calm, soporific expression, he was coaxed into speaking again, his voice still low and tentative.

Marco was patient. He wasn't angry; he would listen.

'I don't know what came over me. You do know that I…' he sat up on the shared bed, Marco's deep brown eyes never leaving his as he patiently waited for him to continue. 'I love you?' he summoned the courage to ask. He wasn't sure if it was directed at Marco or himself.

Marco nodded. There was another moment of tense silence which made Jean painfully aware of how embarrassed he was, or is, all over again. A wave of heat washed over him- a full minute had passed in silence with Marco still watching him, waiting for him to say something, _anything_ more, almost_ concerned_, if nothing else. Jean wished he would stop looking at him like that. He was starting to become agitated that the teen hadn't so much as frowned in his direction. He just sat there, occasionally searching his surroundings, before retuning his gaze toward Jean, like a lost dog.

'I said I love you.'

'I love you too.'

'Do you forgive me-I mean, could y- Do you _want_ to?'

'Yeah…It was nothing… I mean, of course.'

The same charming smile that had attracted Jean so much before, now made him feel almost ill at ease as it tugged shyly across Marco's features.

He hadn't known what to expect, but it was not a reaction like this.

'You aren't angry?'

'No.'

The answer was almost disappointing. Jean sat still, trying to determine why. The obvious answer was there, just barely visible behind mountains of denial and reassurances of 'one time feelings' and 'honest mistakes', but it was there.

He just couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it. Still…he was sure that Marco had caught on by now, anyway. Had noticed the longing glances and distracted conversations that drifted off topic whenever the woman had entered the room. He was sure he had noticed, and that this should have been the final straw before their relationship finally crumbled in on itself, and yet…Marco was still here, by his side, was insisting, if a bit meekly that everything was fine, had went as far as to comfort Jean, the moment he had collapsed, mortified, on his side of the bed ( too upset to even look Marco in the eye for several moments of silence) as though _Jean_ were the one who needed reassurance that things were fine.

That everything was OK between them.

Marco was up now, gathering his things quietly, the kind smile still on his face as he shimmied his trousers back over his hips.

'Marco.'

'Hmm' his shoes were at the floor just in front of the bed.

'I love you. I really love you.'

A pause.

'I love you too. You're so bold today. How many times are you going to repeat that?' His smile remained, but something cold and biting just beneath the surface of his usual playful tone made Jean physically recoil.

Marco didn't notice, or didn't care. His fingers were busy moving swiftly over the small white buttons of his dress shirt. 'So. I'll be catching you later then.'

'Where are you going?'

'Out.' He never bothered to look up. His jacket went up and around his shoulders, and his feet carried him out of the door in seconds, the smile fading to a thin lipped half sneer but never leaving.

Not until he had slammed himself into the boys' shared, beat up red Ford, until he was far down the road near the park they'd spent more than one day enjoying each other's company, until he was sure that the grating feeling that Jean could somehow see his actions through some impossible psychic connection resided, did he let the facade drop completely.

He felt his head hit the steering wheel, heard the horn blare in the dark with one sharp burst of sound, again and again, but it never fully registered. He couldn't even bring himself to cry.

When he'd had enough, he stopped, abruptly, the newfound silence closing in on him again, only penetrated by his own shallow breaths. He couldn't take this anymore.

**This is more of a preview chapter. The next chapter elaborates. I'm almost finished, but I wanted to take my time with it because I've never had or written gay sex before. Well I mean…it's easier to write something you've experienced personally, isn't it? **


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